


The Ring

by Marina_Sheen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Idiots in Love, Lies, Love Triangles, M/M, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, Possessive Behavior, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marina_Sheen/pseuds/Marina_Sheen
Summary: Sherlock is locked in the perimeter of a love triangle, does everything to win the heart of a loved one.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Кольцо](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26645143) by [Marina_Sheen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marina_Sheen/pseuds/Marina_Sheen). 



"John, phone," the detective called his partner, handing him a ringing mobile phone that read "My love" on the screen. 

Watson had just come out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel; he accepted the smartphone after briefly thanking his roommate. Then he went into the kitchen, closed the door behind him, and answered the call. Just a few minutes later, Watson returned with a clearly damaged mood.

Holmes was not interested in "what happened?", it is clear — an unpleasant conversation with his wife because he didn't spend the night at home. Instead, Sherlock decides to ask or state something else:

"You have a new ringtone."

"Um, yes", — the man hesitated, switching his mind from something else entirely, — "Our song with Mary, " he added casually, then regretted it as the detective's expression changed.

"Of course," the dark — haired man said, opening the morning paper in front of him.

Watson sat down with him at the table.

"Don't do that, please."

"What, exactly?" Holmes raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off the text.

In one motion, John removes the paper from his hands, drawing attention to himself before answering.

"Get offended, jealous... You still keep a recording of the dominant's moan for her messages."

"I've told you about that," Holmes said coldly, picking up the next copy of the print edition from the stack.

John repeated the action, setting aside this sample as well.

"Is it about the fact that you do not attach any importance to the ringtone, but will agree to change it only to the sounds of my orgasm?"

"Yes," said the detective with satisfaction, "That will be fair. Don't you think?"

Watson rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the situation. Holmes decided that this was the end of the conversation, so he got up from the chair and went to his room.

"Then you better get used to listening to things you don't like too, because my tune stays!" Watson called after him.

Sherlock stopped abruptly, as if he'd been slapped on the back of the head. Clenching his jaw, he turned around and closed the distance between them.

"Well... What did you tell her?" 

"Who?" 

"To your wife," Holmes snapped at his partner's sudden perplexity.

"She knows we're on the case." 

Watson rubbed his fingers together, avoiding the detective's penetrating gaze.

"What case?" Holmes asked curiously.

"Murder," the blond man said briefly, then got up and went into the bathroom.

"Any details?" 

"Only lies have details — your own words, aren't they? — the doctor said tartly, glancing at the mirror and washstand in the next room.

"Hey... You didn't even think of anything!" Sherlock exclaimed, spreading his arms wide, feeling at least annoyed not to hear about even a fictional adventure.

"She doesn't get in, you know?" John said, returning to the living room. "I don't discuss work with Mary."

"Still, she might ask questions..." the detective marveled at his best friend's levity.

"In that case, I'll find something to say or..." Watson bit his lip, not wanting to say anything else.

"Or?" Holmes insisted on hearing the full sentence.

"Nothing." The blogger patted Sherlock on the shoulder, reassuring him.

"Or you can satisfy her curiosity in another way?" The dark-haired man looked for confirmation of his guess in the eyes of his partner. "How do you even manage to be enough for two?!" 

And he must have found it, letting this thought escape.

Holmes was wildly offended that after sex with him, the lover comes back to his wife. Always. No matter how much Sherlock pleasured him at night, John always went to her at dawn, at all costs to play the role of an exemplary family man.

"Nothing will happen. Today for sure. It should be obvious to you," John said in a confident tone, even though it made him feel bad.

The detective rolled his eyes in an attempt to hide a wave of jealousy.

Watson looked around again, then crossed his arms in a businesslike manner.

"So where is it?"

"What?" the detective said calmly, paying attention to the defensive position of his partner.

The doctor pointed a finger at him.

"You know what."

Holmes opened his mouth and then closed it, which might indicate that a super-powerful thinking process was being launched.

Watson tilted his head and began to fiddle with the fingers of his left hand, waiting.

"My ring," he explained, interrupting his partner's inner stream of consciousness.

"Your ring? Have no idea. Did you wear it today?" the genius spelled out the words with lightning speed, as if to compensate for the pause.

"Sherlock," Watson said through gritted teeth, making it clear that he wasn't joking.

"I don't know..." 

The detective nodded at the open door to the bedroom.

John wasted no time in going inside and looking around the room.

Their bedroom still smelled of sex. The bed was undone, the sheet falling seductively down to touch the floor. The man searched under the bed. Apart from an empty pack of condoms nothing was found there. After sorting through the bed, he also didn't find his jewelry. In the end, John was ready to accept failure and leave with nothing. One last thing - he opened the window and let in a blast of fresh air.

"Found it?" Holmes's low baritone voice made the blogger's skin crawl as he entered the room unnoticed.

"No," said Watson, scratching his head.

"Have you looked everywhere?" Sherlock frowned skeptically.

John felt in his gut that his lover was hiding something from him, and the ring could not just disappear.

"If you've got rid of it somehow, you'd better tell me." warned Watson, giving the other a menacing look.

"Yes, I got rid of it... Threw it away. Here," Sherlock blurted out, pointing at the open space through the window frame.

Watson looked down at the sidewalk and met his former rommate eyes again. John snorted.

"You know, I won't even ask you why you think you can dispose of my things as you please..."

"You might have guessed that I didn't like it form the beginning," Holmes interrupted defensively.

"But this is MY wedding ring!" John raised his voice in indignation, seeing no hint of remorse in his lover.

"I'm not an expert, but that's probably why," Sherlock explained, and he pursed his chin, expecting to take on another wave of anger.

John put his hand over his eyes for a few seconds, choosing his words.

"You... You worried about the credibility of the fake case, and you throw my ring out on the street like it's the right thing to do. I did not think you were such a selfish psychopath!" 

Sherlock had nothing to say to that and just looked down at the floor. At that time Watson, having made sure that at least the phone was still with him, rushed out of the room.

Holmes immediately stopped him at the door, pulling him into a hug from behind.

"Calm down..." the detective said softly, turning the man toward him. "It's in the room. Maybe it just rolled over the foot of the bed or something."

"You're insufferable. Why did you even feel the need to take it off?!" John released himself irritably from Holmes's grasp.

"I gave you a reason: it got in my way, I... I was distracted."

"Sherlock," John sighed wearily. "I can't go back without it. And I don't want to be forced to buy a second one. If the ring is still here, I want us to find it now. Together."

The detective nodded in understanding, and they separated and began their search again in silence.

Watson went back to the bed, bent down to lift the edge of the sheet once again. Suddenly Holmes appeared behind him and pushed him forward. 

John grotesquely tumbled across the bed, and the brunette laid on top of him. Once he got comfortable, he began to cover the doctor's neck with brief, gentle kisses.

'What are you...?" the blogger laughed at the ticklish touches. "I was about to leave." — there was a tinge of regret in his voice.

Sherlock pulled John's lost treasure out of his pocket.

Watson breathed a sigh of relief or admiration mixed with indignation at the trick. Freeing his hand, he held it out to his partner's hand, holding the jewelry in the air.

"Lord. Give it back!"

John was only a few inches away, and the detective nobly lowered his hand to his.

"Can I?" Holmes asked him softly, touching his earlobe lightly.

John swallowed, giving his silent consent.

Sherlock put the ring on his partner's finger and covered his hand with his own, twining their fingers together. Then he turned his head to the man and pulled him into a deep kiss. Moving to his side, he pressed the blogger's body to him and gently bit his lips into the neck, so as not to leave any traces.

Watson groaned in spite of himself, ran his hand through the brunette's curls, and brought his lips close to his own again, starting an even more passionate kiss.

They spent an indeterminate amount of time like this, then at some point John leaned back and took a deep breath. Along with which he came to understand what was happening, and that it needed to stop before they went any further.

Sherlock, for his part, didn't understand. He had never been fully aware of himself being in the same bed with very desirable John. So the next thing he did was to sit on my lover's feet and bend over him, pulling him out of his shirt.

Gradually, as he undid button after button, he sensuously kissed each newly opened area of the doctor's fresh and clean skin after the shower.

"Oh, Sherlock..." — the only thing the blonde man was able to say while enjoying the touch of hot lips on the body.

"Stay with me tonight," Sherlock said, pulling away from him only to unbutton his own shirt.

"Don't ask me to do something that I can't."

Sherlock bit his lower lip, and his hands dropped to his sides.

"I don't ask you that," he snapped, then got out of bed abruptly, in his usual aggrieved manner.

John propped himself up on his elbows.

"Sherlock!" John called out to his lover as he left the room.

"What?" the lover's voice was far away.

"Come back."

"For what?"

"I want to say goodbye in a right way."

"That's the point, John. I don't want you to leave. And no, I won't say goodbye to you. You're so sexy right now, it's going to be very difficult for me to control myself."

Watson chuckled, tucked in his shirt, and straightened his hair.

"Right. Then we can assume that we have already done it."

The doctor walked silently across the room, ignoring Sherlock, who was sitting in a chair, crossing his legs and staring at the random book and still watching out of the corner of his eye as the silhouette of the former neighbor left the apartment; listening to footsteps on the stairs, then standing at the window. Finally was convinced that his lover got into a taxi and left.

Again. It happened again. And Sherlock hated himself for not regretting anything and wanting to do the same all over again as soon as possible.

Holmes picked up the phone, made several attempts to write something like "I'm going to miss you."  
"I already miss you.", "I look forward to our next case ;)" — erased the entire text message, clearing the writing cloud.

"Let me know when you're free. -SH."

Sent.

Read.

The response came in a second.

"John: Ok."

"You were right... I'm a selfish psychopath who doesn't know how to express his feelings!" Holmes swore at himself, throwing the phone away on the sofa with an irritated movement, which bounced off the hard surface and hit the floor.

"Don't care."

Sherlock didn't even think to pick it up.

Instead, he turned on the coffee machine in the kitchen and went into the bedroom to collapse on the bed. 

His pillow smelled of John, and the pillow next to it still had his scent. Under the illusion of his lover's presence, Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and did not notice how had fallen into a deep sleep.

His phone ping with a text alert.

New message. 

"John: Sherlock! You're in your repertoire. What is this supposed to mean?"


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock awoke from a three-hour nap, he was annoyed by the noise of the street, the too-bright light in his room, and the clothes that made him feel uncomfortably cramped.

After replaying the events of the previous day in his head, the man rubbed his eyes and gradually returned to reality. Once he was fully awake, he got out of bed, closed the window, pulled back the curtains, removed the bedclothes, and put them in the laundry box. Clothes that were taken off before going to the shower also went there.

After spending some time under the refreshing water, Sherlock put on a dressing gown, blow-dried his hair, and tried to arrange the unruly curls so that they wouldn't touch his forehead for a while.

Back in the bedroom, the detective took a fresh set of bedclothes from the dresser and made the bed. He smoothed the bedspread perfectly and went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee that had been cold for a long time.

The hands on the clock had passed the middle of the day, but his thoughts seemed to be stuck in the previous night. Again and again immersing him in the best moments of time spent with his friend, lover and colleague in one person.

"Work," said Sherlock out loud. "That's what'll help to clear my mind. How is Scotland yard? Of course, they obviously don't have an interesting case, or Lestrade would already be here, but might be worth it to pay a friendly visit.

Sherlock picked up the phone on the carpet, holding a coffee mug in one hand. He took a sip and froze.

"3 missed calls"

Also 3 new messages. All from Watson.

"Sherlock! You're in your own repertoire. What is this supposed to mean?"

"Answer the call. This is important!"

"What hell of a game are you going to play this time?"

Holmes typed back:

"John, I was busy sleeping."

"It's a gift. Take it as a sign of attention or something."

"I hope you don't mind."

The detective's smile never left his face as he read the messages and answered them.

"My God. He had already seen it. Probably in a taxi. Smart boy, " he said, grinning.

John found out about the switch rings, even though Sherlock has done a good job to make it quite difficult to determine the difference at first glance The result exceeded expectations when he himself confused the old with the new one. Engraving. Only an engraving made it clear which one's which. John's ring was without it. And on the other was engraved: "I need all of you. -SH."

"Now he knows," Sherlock said with a satisfied grin.

Holmes did not expect the blogger to discover the substitution so soon, but then again he did not expect to get any reaction from him that was not typical of him. It was enough to know that the person he loved would be wearing the ring on his finger that he gave to him, with some sort of reminder of who it really belonged to.

The detective set his mug on the table and fidgeted with his phone until he decided to check his Twitter account for recent news and possible emails from clients. But there was no crime in the events, as well as personal messages. There was no activity on John's part either. Still, the blogger's last tweet was dated six weeks ago.

"We have finished the case of the missing stuntman. It was not entirely successful. Sherlock was acting, hmm... I'm afraid I can't fit in 140 characters."

The last tweet from the detective was around the same time.

"Always wanted to leave beautifully after the explosion — done."

After re-reading previous tweets from his page, Sherlock concluded that it was time for something new.

"Being with someone doesn't mean having them."

Sent.

With the next tweet he typed a follow-up.

"Lady Shoters understood that. The case is solved. I thank my permanent partner for his help."

"That's enough," the dark — haired man said, putting the phone down. "Time to get ready."

Holmes untied the belt of a dressing-gown, went into the bedroom to put on his underwear and pants. The ringing of his cell phone brought him back to the living room.

Sherlock didn't look at the screen when he took the call, but he was sure of the identity of the person on the other side.

"Sherlock, are you all right?" John's voice sounded concerned.

"Absolutely," the detective replied calmly, trying to sense his partner's mood, as well as to predict what the man would say next.

"It seems to me you're not, — said Watson, with some reserve.

"Well, then, you should come and see for yourself. Bring a bottle of medicine just in case, " Sherlock said, openly mocking the doctor's concern at the prank.

"Do you have my ring? I want it back."

"Why?" Don't you like the one I've prepared for you?

"No, Sherlock, it's an engagement ring, you can't just gift it to me, do you understand that?"

"I'm sorry, John, but I can't take you as my husband while you're married to a woman..."

"You're overstepping your bounds."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"What did you tweet? What lady Shoters?"

"Oh, that. I'm glad you got the notifications."

"Delete. And don't ever post anything again unless we approve it in advance. Is that clear?"

"Nothing at all?"

"About our fictional cases, of course."

"Wow. So we'll still have them? May I ask when the next one is?

"I'll get my ring back first, and then we'll see."

"Once again, you already have a great replacement..."

"There's your damn engraving! I'm not going to take that risk."

Sherlock winced at the words. Watson admitted that he is afraid of exposure, meaning he did not want to lose his wife — respectively, he still has feelings for her. Well, that's great... John was indeed mad at him about the substitution.

"Well. I'll give it back. We'll switch it..." Sherlock's voice lost its irony. "There's just one condition." Sherlock pursed his lips, waiting for an answer. 

"Right, of course, a condition, how could it be otherwise. I'm all ears.

"You'll have to spend the day with me. Just you and me. Twenty-four hours. What do you say?"

"I will not stand you for this long," John tried to make a joke, but it didn't work out quite right.

"I'll be good," the detective said almost in a whisper, feeling a lump rise in his throat.

In his eyes, Sherlock looked like a desperate attention seeker. It was a terrible feeling — he was imposing himself, but he couldn't help it.

"This is all according to your plan, isn't it?" John had a suspicion, which he immediately divulged.

"Yes," Holmes lied, not knowing why, probably in an attempt to keep a small amount of respect to himself.

After all, all he really wanted was for John to wear the jewelry he'd been given. Instead Holmes agreed to exchange the ring for the opportunity to be alone with him for pathetic day.

"If so, I'm sorry, I have something planned, too. I need my ring today because I won't be in the country tomorrow.

"Going somewhere?" the dark-haired man asked in surprise.

"To Paris."

'Alone?"

John made an eloquent pause.

"Not alone."

The detective pushed the phone away from his face, picked up his coffee mug, and finished the rest in a long gulp.

"Sherlock?" John was wary of the silence on the other end of the line.

"To Paris?" Sherlock asked, holding the phone to his ear again.

"For a week. Mary's wish, I didn't know..."

"This isn't funny anymore, John."

"No, you misunderstood. This trip was planned long before you and I got really... connected.

"But when you were with me today you knew that you flying to France tomorrow."

"That's why I wanted to say a proper goodbye to you."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Sherlock raised his voice and slammed the mug down aggressively.

"I couldn't," John said, squinting at the sound of ceramic hitting wood. "Not the best news for you. Obviously..."

Sherlock paused again.

"I'll pick up the ring tonight, okay? You will give it to me, and when I return, I will fulfill the condition. Agreed?

"You don't have to take it off your finger, and then she won't notice," Sherlock insisted that it was not obligatory to make an exchange.

"I have a habit of leaving it in the bathroom."

"Really? No way."


End file.
